Stood, where the hands of the Goddess the couch of Hephaistus prepared.
But he at the dawning thence to his forges and anvils had fared
In the cavern wide of a sea-washed isle, where he aye wrought on
With the fire-blasts fashioning manifold marvels: but she alone
Facing the doors of the palace sat in a carven chair.
Over her shoulders white had she loosened the waves of her hair,
And a golden comb through their ripples she drew, and now would she braid
The long plaits up; but before her beheld she the twain, and she stayed
Her hand, and she rose from her throne, and she bade them within her hall,
And on couches she caused them to sit; thereafter herself withal
Sat down, and her uncombed tresses coiled she about her head;
And smiling innocent-arch to the Goddesses twain she said:
“Dear sisters, what purpose or need hath brought you hither at last
Who have tarried so long afar? Why come ye? In days overpast
Not oft hath your presence been here—too great for such as I!”
Then unto her did Hêrê with stately speech reply:
“Thou mockest, the while our heart with calamity’s shadow is dark,
For that even now in Phasis the river moored is the bark
Of Aison’s son, and the rest on the Quest of the Fleece that have come.
For all their sakes—for that nigh is the deed and the hour of doom—
Exceeding sorely we fear, but most for Aison’s son.
Him I—yea, though unto Hades now he were voyaging on
To break those fetters of brass wherewithal Ixion is bound—
Will deliver, so far as strength in these my limbs is found,
Lest Pelias should laugh, having ’scaped the doom, his iniquity’s price,
Who in pride of his heart hath left me unhonoured with sacrifice.
Yea, and before that Jason was passing dear unto me,
Even since, when Anaurus’ outfall in full flood poured to the sea,
In the day when men’s heart-righteousness fain would I prove and know,
Coming back from the hunting he met me; and all overmantled with snow
Were the mountain-ridges and towering peaks, and adown from them poured
The wintertide floods, and the rolling torrents rattled and roared;
And he pitied the grey old crone, and he took me up at my prayer,
And over the seaward-madding flood on his shoulders he bare.
Therefore I honour him now, and will honour: unharmed shall he be
Of Pelias’ spite—yea, though his return be unaided of thee.”
So spake she: the lips of Kypris could frame no word for a space,
In her awe to behold great Hêrê asking of her a grace.
And with courteous-gentle speech then spake she answering:
“O Goddess dread, may there never be found any viler thing
Than Kypris, if I shall set at naught desire of thine
Or in word or in deed, whatsoever these frail hands of mine
May avail; and for all that I do nor thank nor requital would I.”
So spake she; and Hêrê again in her wisdom made reply:
“It is nowise for lack of might that we come, nor of strength of hand.
But thou to thy child in peaceful quietness speak thy command
To bewitch Aiêtes’ daughter with love for Aison’s seed;
For if she with her counsel shall help him, with loving favour lead,
Lightly, I ween, shall the hero win the Fleece of Gold,
And return to Iolkos, seeing the maiden is subtle-souled.”
So did she speak; and the Lady of Cyprus answered thereto:
“Hêrê, Athênê, my child would render obedience to you
More than to me: in your presence a little abashed shall he be,
Bold boy though he be:—but nothing at all he regardeth me.
But ever he striveth against me, and laugheth mine hests to scorn.
Yea, I am minded, by that his naughtiness overborne,
His evil-sounding shafts and his bow therewithal to break
Full in his sight: for of late this threat in his anger he spake,
That, if I refrained not mine hands while his passion within him was strong,
My scathe upon mine own head should be, upon me the wrong.”
So spake she: the Goddesses smiled, and each in her fellow’s eyes
Looked: but again she spake, and her speech was burdened with sighs:
“Unto others my griefs be for laughter alone, and I ought not so
To tell them to all:—enough that mine heart must its bitterness know.
Howbeit, if this be all your soul’s desire this day,
I will try, and with soft words win him: he shall not say me nay.”
She spake; and with touch caressing did Hêrê her slim hand take,
And, softly smiling the while, she answered, and thus she spake:
“Even so, Kythereia, with speed perform thou this our request
As thou sayest; and vex not thyself, neither strive with angered breast
With thy child: from his troubling of thee hereafter shalt thou have rest.”
She spake, and she rose from her seat, and Athênê passed at her side,
As forth they sped and away, they twain: but the Cyprian hied
To Olympus, and down its ridges, seeking her child, she passed.
And in Zeus’s fruitful orchard-close she found him at last,
Not alone, Ganymedes was with him, the boy whom Zeus on a day
From earth unto heaven had brought to abide with Immortals for aye,
When he greatly desired his beauty. With golden dice these two
Were playing, even as boys like-minded be wont to do.
And already Eros the greedy the palm of his left hand pressed,
Filled full with the golden spoils of his winning, against his breast,
Standing upright; the while a sweet flush mantled and glowed
O’er the bloom of his cheeks: but the other was crouching on bent knees bowed
In downcast silence: he had but twain; on the earth he flung
One after other, by Eros’s gibing laughter stung.
But, even as fared the former, he lost them, the last of his dice;
And with empty and helpless hands he went; and his down-drooped eyes
Marked not the coming of Kypris. Before her child did she stand,
And with loving chiding she spake, as she laid on his lips her hand:
“Why smil’st thou in triumph, thou naughty varlet? Hast thou not beguiled
Thy playmate?—and fairly hast thou overcome that innocent child?
Go to now, accomplish my bidding, the thing that I shall ask;
And the plaything exceeding fair of Zeus shall requite thy task,
Which was
